The Calligraphy Parchment
by 76percentorganic
Summary: Various drabbles and the occasional poem. A diverse amount of of viewpoints of characters, with a splash of pairings - well, more like a wave. :p
1. broken: sakura

**chapter one: **broken

**disclaimer:** I don't own Naruto

**author's note:** I so a summary that spoke about broken souls, and various others things, and was thusly inspired. Oh, right, and yay for re-writing TCP. :p

* * *

She doesn't dare look back.

She won't press herself to such a point.

She doesn't want to force herself.

She can't do it. Because she's too weak, weak, _weak_.

She can't look back at the past because it's shattered into a million pieces.

Like glass, when she accidentally let it slip and fall, it splintered.

It's not whole anymore. It's not legible. It can't be reminisced.

Pieces are crushed. Pieces are strewn. Pieces are lost.

And she can't recall.

But—Sakura isn't devastated at all.


	2. predestined: neji x hinata

**chapter two: **predestined

**disclaimer:** I don't own Naruto.

**author's note:** I just…like the thought of a tragically bleak and dismal future? Neji speaks to me? :) And no, I am not pairing the two together (at least not in this fanfiction).

* * *

He works hard enough, and he is almost there, just beyond the grasp of his desires.

_She works so, so hard, and yet she reaps nothing she sows._

One more punch, one more jab, one more jutsu.

_One more word, one more heartbeat of courage, one more attempted attack._

Like a bird, someday he'll fly away.

_Like a flower, maybe she'll bloom._

But when he opens his wings to leap into the air, the iron bars keep him tucked away in an oblivion entitled 'irrelevant'.

_And the snow that swathes the meadow she thrives in keeps her petals from fully opening to greet a bright, new day with a shining sun called 'audacity'._

That's why he is filled with loathing towards her—for he is superior in reality, but inferior in rank—and such things cannot be change. For it is not done.

_And that's why she is overflowing with discomfort each time her eyes rest upon him—for though she's seen the tribulations he's gone through, and though he's seen the trials she's gone through, he can't help her help him—and things will not change soon, until the generations fluctuate. For it simply is not done._


	3. vacant: sai

**chapter three: **vacant

**disclaimer:** I don't own Naruto.

**author's note: **SAI IS JUST SUPAH FUN TO RIGHT ABOUT. cha.

* * *

Each soul is a blank slate.

Like a stone, waiting to be carved into. Waiting to be used.

How are things written down, on these void tablets?

By a hug. _Words of care are written down._

By a glare. _Notes of natural ire scribbled onto it._

With optimism. _Wonderments on sheer ecstasy placed there._

Via negativity. _Warnings of displeasure being set as reminders._

By love. _Thoughts on someone dear, and how to care._

With hatred. _Lexis on what to stray from._

How one makes their impression on another's slate is up to them.

One cannot write on their own vacant carving stones, it takes others to develop a substantially full slate.

We rely on others to give us intrinsic, human experiences.

We depend on others to teach us. To show us to become something better.

To live life in a way it was supposed to be.

Sai is no exception from this memorandum.

So until someone picks of a pen, by means of words or actions, to convey what is only innate—the stone shall remain as blank as ever, marked with mocking fissures and cracks as time passes.

Until it's too late for interaction, and his mind has already been warped with a smile's replica, and a carbon copy life.


	4. training: sakura x naruto

**chapter four: **training

**disclaimer: **I do not own this thing called 'Naruto'.

**author's note: **(silence) ….

* * *

A long stream of methodic punches and kicks pours relentlessly into the training stump, the sound they make is rhythmic, and yet dissatisfying.

Cerulean eyes observe the training female, eyes that shadow with guilt when they read the name scratched into the stump—'Sasuke'.

But the guilt that swelled up inside him would not harbor itself to such a simple degree. After all, that would require the sentiment to be _merciful_, and _compassionate_. And it is not.

Her assaults were not what they could be, if anything, they only attained forty percent of what her newly acclaimed strength was. As though she was afraid.

And he clenched his jaw, running a hand angrily through blonde locks, because he knows that she can't push herself past her mindset. The wall is far too big for her to pass—she can't go over, she can't go under, she can't go around, and she can't go through.

She can't force herself to hate Sasuke enough to deal the final blow, the final sever of her infatuation with him.

She's growing tired, and weary, and he knows she won't stop until she can finally do it, until she can just use her little pinky and make the stump crumble before her, like she knows she can.

And then he's there.

Beside her, Naruto wraps his arms around his comrade, and she comes to a halt, slackening only slightly in his hold.

What was meant to be comfort only racks her with more grief.

But Sakura smiles, and lets him guide her away, as one of his own bunshin pulverizes the stump with Rasengan.


	5. title: naruto x sakura x sasuke

**chapter five: **title

**disclaimer: **Sadly, I do not own Naruto.

**author's note: **This is just something random I realized when I saw the _Naruto_ logo. :p

* * *

The color choice of the title is significant—not just some random hues and shades picked out, ones that the creators thought would look nice and pretty together.

Orange, blue, and pink.

Orange—for Naruto, the obstinately steadfast foundation that their lives are built upon, based around, and all coincide with.

Blue—for Sasuke, the precise and meticulous lines that keep them all in check and together, letting not one stray beyond the boundaries of safety.

Pink—for Sakura, the thing that colors their lives, the world that surrounds them black and white until she turns it vivid with audacious flushes.

A trio of color's that don't just _happen_ to be cognizant and synchronized with one another.


	6. hatred: sai x sakura

**chapter six: **hatred

**disclaimer:** This whole idea of '_Naruto_', yeah…I don't own it. :(

**author's note: **Yo.

* * *

He hates them.

He hates those salty, wet droplets that spill so freely from her eyes.

Those _tears_.

They're worse than rain.

You can get away from rain.

He can't seem to get away from her - and those forsaken tears.

They ruin everything.

They smudge lines.

They make ink run.

They wreck paper.

They ruin everything.

They ruin her life, because they mean that she won't let old love go.

She's just as fragile as paper. She should stop.

Sai hates it when Sakura cries.


	7. ardent: shino x hinata

**chapter seven:** ardent

**disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto.

**author's note: **This came to me randomly. Oh, by and by, a few of the drabbles that had formerly been here will be returned, I'll just adjust the ones that I think I can actually make into decent pieces of literature.

* * *

Shino does not comprehend love.

He does not feel love.

He does not feel it when Hinata picks up one of his beetles, long ago conquered fear naught but leaves on the wind as she surveys the insect as it scuttles over her hand, letting out a minor squeak of surprise as it opens its diminutive wings and flies away in a scurry.

He does not feel it when the Hyuuga heiress masters a particularly hard jutsu, and a humble pride shines in her pupil-less eyes.

Shino doesn't feel it when Hinata finally gives way to Kiba's persuasive and near snarky words, and reveals her modest skills in dancing.

The young man fails to feel it when she offers over her smile to him, the occasional one that lacks the usual timid nature.

But, his heart _does_ accelerate to a speed that is almost intolerable.

Perhaps he'll get a book, and review definitions of this thing called 'love'—and its symptoms.


	8. aide memoire: sakura x sasuke

**chapter right: **aide memoire

**disclaimer: **I do not own _Naruto_. :(

**author's note: **I've been in the car with this laptop for four hours. THE BATTERY MUST NOT DIE—I refuse to let it. ...

* * *

_Sunrise:_

When his eyes first open, as he stirs and arouses himself from his resting spot, the heavens are splashed with yellow and orange, but most of all, pink—and in the sunlight he sees her face.

_Sunset:_

As she lays herself to sleep, from her window she can see the midnight navy skies, and can only remember him—and she says a prayer for his safety, even though he is a traitor.

_Rain:_

He stands alone, subordinates strictly kept away from him, as the rain cleans off the blood crusted to his visage, and he likens the water falling from the sky to be like her tears, and he lets them crush and purify him.

_Lightning:_

She used to be afraid of storms, almost intrinsically, but now…as she sits on a step outside her house, she's in the company of ideal comfort, because she likes to think it's his chidori causing the lightning, and he's just over those marshy hills.

_White:_

After a particularly rough battle with fellow rogue ninja, he cleans and bandages his wounds, and a thought strikes him. He's heard that she's become a near prodigal medical ninja, and he can't help but think that she'd be the best to heal his wounds—from both past and present.

_Red:_

While the battle rages around her, she finds herself in a stupor. Her eyes are locked onto the lengthy lesion she's acquired on her left arm, but all sees are his crimson Sharingan staring pointedly back at her, and decides to let it bleed on.

_Mercy:_

While raiding a village for the noxious Snake Sanin, and bursting into a house so that he might slaughter one of those that 'betrayed' Orochimaru, he comes upon a woman with rosette locks, and lowers his blade—he knows it's not her, but he couldn't stand to see blood taint those infamous tresses.

_Wrath:_

She looks at his replacement, and sees an almost identical replica, and it hurts—so, the moment he gives her the opportunity to strike him, she does it…though not without a smile, however fake, because it's her small apology that she must strike a face so similar to his.

_Right:_

He left her on the bench, years ago, because he was sure that if she perished, he would not be able to withhold the gates of weeping bereavement any longer—and an Uchiha cannot be erroneous.

_Wrong:_

In the midst of the night, she spirits herself away, and for the life of her, it feels so wrong that it's creating a horrendous monster of culpability in the pit of her stomach—but feels so much more right that the monster's immediately stabbed by her Inner Self.

_Flame:_

Karin alerts him of a presence, and ever attentive, Sasuke meets the stranger's neck with the sharpened edge of a kunai, only to be blinded by the conflagration of a light, threatening to illuminate his world once again, like times before.

_Ice:_

Determination flares in her eyes, and as she knocks away his weapon with monstrous strength and draws herself to him, Sakura places a kiss upon the man her mind has only been on for the past few years—and she fancies that she's melting his heart that's been frozen over tenfold.


	9. feminine: tenten x neji

**chapter nine: **feminine

**disclaimer: **I plus Naruto equals do not own.

**author's note: **Me love Raiga's passing. :) What a funeral to remember. ….. :( Perhaps I'll do a little drabble on him later, yeah? Can I just say that I _don't_ know how to spell that awesome, Mini-Haku-Reincarnation-ish kid's name? Bear with me. By and by, this is more or less a pairing drabble. wheee

* * *

She's never felt it before. Not like this.

Of course, it's always been there, waiting to rear it's head out into the open world that relentlessly tempts it—this fact could not be doubted. But…

It was previously just like subliminal messages. Like that time in the month all females go through, certain parts of her anatomy and the sheer prospects of her range of limits. Just vague reminders, vague boundaries that one couldn't surpass.

Now it flew through her body like wildfire, scorching and licking the tips of her fingers and toes with its passionate potency.

As this boy—this violet-haired, big brown eyed _child_ lay before her, refusing the help he so desperately needed, and already taking the weight of preparations for death upon his frail shoulders, something within her riled up.

Her tongue and lips formed words, sharpened as a blade when she uttered them, and yet they left the aftertaste of care and concern bitterly in her mouth and hanging on the air.

She could not let this child die.

So, as Ronmoru focuses his sienna optics firmly upon her, crimson tints catching and glinting vaguely in the light, she meets those haunting eyes with ones barely containing their overflowing ferocity.

And when his lips part, if only slightly, the beginnings of relieved triumph begin to cool down the fire raging inside her, and she takes the chance to spoon the curry into his mouth.

He chews, slowly at first, and then sparks ignite in his concealed soul. Eventually, he's taken the bowl in his own grasp, and is devouring it almost too quickly for his small orifice to masticate.

So now, she feels pride—like none before, and of a kind she wonders if she'll ever feel again.

Momentarily, a sentiment stirs. It's just a small as the one beforehand. She almost wishes that Neji could have been there, so that he might have seen this other side of her, this _feminine_ side that never seems able to truly break through. Because, maybe, he'd find magnitude in the fact.

But the clinking of a spoon against a bowl—signifying that the meal is finished—catches her attention, and as she looks back at the grateful gaze of the child, TenTen can't help but fan the flames of a strange elation, that the young soul would see the sunrise of another day.


	10. elegiac: sakura x naruto x sasuke

**chapter ten: **elegiac

**disclaimer: **I do not own Naruto, nor the poem by Elizabeth Whittier.

**author's note: **First things first, I love this poem. I can only hope to write something like this (while others of you might just chortle, seeing as how you might not see this piece of literature in the same light as I), though…the only time any work I might create would only become vaguely loved after my demise. That's the way the world seems to go. (cue le sigh)

* * *

_God pity them both and pit us all,_

With great powers granted upon them, they took little time in sharpening and harnessing their skills, so that they might very well become the very best—while I remained in the background, never in the amiable limelight.

_Who vainly the Dreams of Youth recall,_

Each night I dream of them both. Blonde hair, blue eyes shining down at me with a smile merciless in the ways of adoration—black hair, obsidian eyes searing into me, and merciless as well, though in a diverse way.

_For of all sad words of tongue or pen,_

When I speak to them, my words were always stale with bitter contempt, a sentiment I felt I could no longer conceal to my fullest. Contrary wise, my letters to them on their lengthy missions are always sweet, but still, it may have the desired affect, and sting them.

_The saddest are these: It might have been._

The tombstones before me are bleak, emotionless words carved upon them doing no justice to my two fallen comrades. I can feel the salty liquid ooze from the tear ducts of my viridian eyes, and I allow myself one last good cry, for bereavement at their passing—and at what I had kept myself from, by that ugly bitter derision.


	11. perfection: konan x pein

**chapter ten: **perfection

**disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto.

**author's note: **I haven't done a Konan and Pein drabble (or anything, in fact) thus far in TCP's rewritten phase.

She must change herself around him.

While in the presence of elite, unequivocal others, Konan allows herself latitude. She grants herself small, moderate portions of emotion, but when her acclaimed deity is near, she draws herself up into a void.

She places her emotions in a casket, and holds a funeral.

For, this blue-haired angel of God cannot lower herself to the 'filth' of mortals, superfluous things as they are—and oh, how ever could she even _think_ to stoop so low as to let herself laugh? That's what Pein would think.

And then she could be eradicated. He was creating the perfect world, and Konan was not perfect.

But—with him, being so close that they were almost one, Konan found herself becoming something that was as close to an idealistic perfection as he could ask for.


	12. failure: sai x sakura

**chapter twelve: **failure

**disclaimer: **you should know this by now. :)

**author's note:** Wow. I haven't had a short story in a while~. Just a little random things I pulled between Sakura and Sai. I'm not quite sure if it's love or not. Lately I'm been mildly interested in these two, but not enough to write a full-blown story around it. I'm still NaruSaku, even more so since Shippuden. :33

* * *

And to think I'd been so close to forgetting. So close to healing.

Tsunade-sama had taught me through those long, cruel days of training.

How was it that a single face could throw me off?

Why was it that I could heal anyone but myself?

Again, that face was on my team. Anyone could see the differences, a false smile plastered constantly with little range of emotion, but the basics were still there. Standing triumphantly on my heart with digging spikes.

He used a paintbrush instead of lips or eyes, ink chosen over fire. They say the pen is mightier than the sword. In his case, it was probably true.

I could have lived through this, barely, but I still would have walked the bitter brink and teetered towards the dark, black edge.

It was when he used those familiar lips to sweetly hiss "naive" insults, and stared at me a little too blankly in the aftermath of the maelstrom he was stirring up, that I felt my heart cry a little

Like a cancer, it was spreading. Like a tumor, it was growing into a little devil, festering and shoving aside the vital things I needed. Reprieve.

When I was a child, I'd been a fool. Innocent like the fresh dew on daisies.

But he'd taken a weed-wacker and torn apart my meadow, stealing tranquility away into his eerie, empty soul.

Naruto would be disappointed to see how gray and tattered my sliver of a heart was, crinkling more each and every time, like a flourishing leaf gone wrong with pesticides.

The young ANBU's very face–and only his face–was the drug that cradled my innards to a grave of thorns. He was like "Ice", pretty crystal hands cascading down my back, paralyzing me with each sentence, each word. Like I have these bugs in me, and I'm scratching and biting and clawing and slashing...

But these little imperfections won't come out.

He shows me my flaws, proudly holding them up to the world while the pupils in my eyes dilate and I sink down, down, down. He opens his arms, but brushes my face tenderly–a charlatan, could he also be sadistic?–and smiles cordially as my skull cracks against the cement.

I nitpick at myself, craving his silence–only his silence, forever a smiling mouth shut–vowing to become better. I've realized it's the same vow I've cast to Naruto.

Am I really that pathetic, that I have only the same promise to give to two people?

He seems to think I am.

What kind of medical ninja am I, that I can't even fix myself? Something in me isn't working right.

When I punch him, would it be odd to say that I don't feel any pleasure? It's like I'm punching that puppet man's face, jumbled with pretty blood silk. My hand hurts, but nothing's happening, they're eyes are the same. Just empty.

I wonder if Sai was waiting for something, as well.

Each time after the punch, no matter if the muscles beneath have swollen to hinder the damage, that smile comes back. It never really occurred to me before. As a member of ANBU, couldn't he deflect me more easily?

Maybe he wants it this way.

Interchangeable visages, maybe he likes the thought of me being angry at this face. Belittling me, only letting me see that too happy face, _his_ face. Showing me the world isn't all rainbows and butterflies, all those childish lies. Yes, even wrapped in the bruised bow of ninja war and hatred, he was showing me beneath the muddy ground.

Burying me alive in the grime–the bane of my existence, my tears?

No, my affection. For who those tears were shed. He has little respect for Sasuke, and why should he? Does he goad me to the point of violence so that I'll strike his face, and still see Sasuke? Making me grow used to the idea of loathing the Uchiha, who I'd once thoughtlessly promised heart and soul to?

Did I even know what love was, back then?

It could be that this was his reward, for having a face so alike to the so-called "traitor". Pressing me to glare and crack my knuckles instead of curling into myself and crying for a man who could taste my tears and probably never felt anything for them.

I never cry when Sai's around. I'm too busy realizing my failure.

I wonder...

If Sai ever cried before he latched onto that smile, dancing to the rank of ANBU.

Even if he ever did, it was probably only for a snapshot in time. Lasting only if you got to see it. Unlike me, practically a bountiful waterfall ready to crush you with my needs.

I think I'm better off now, actually. Vigorously standing up for myself and my opinions, getting a lot farther with a new talking–can't you just smile at me and say nothing?–punching bag.

After all, perhaps he doesn't want me to cry anymore. Because tears ruin things, I make an ugly face when I cry, I waste time, whatever the reason. Seeing a look-alike Sasuke's face being hit halfway across the world, he wants me to get used to this.

Because Sai, I think, would like to kill Sasuke. And he doesn't want me to cry over the same man more than I already have.

"_This is an amazing feat. I never thought this day would come, by you've tripled your ugliness! I think your level is in the six digits, Hag. It's a rather sad thing that Uchiha had to see your runny face in his last moments. I should have at least warned him."_

He isn't looking for anything else besides accomplishing the next order, sitting in the iron grip of ANBU leaders. At least not yet.

So I think I could hate him, if he thought it would be best that way.


End file.
